Nothing ventured, nothing sprained

Ginger folded her arms. ‘This had better be good.’

Milo’s first attempt to explain his ‘plan’ didn’t work very well. He was so excited that his words tumbled out in a confusing torrent. Ginger held up a hand and made him take three deep breaths, then led the way down to the kitchen where she made them mugs of hot chocolate while Milo paced back and forth, muttering to himself.

When the hot chocolate was made they took their mugs out to the back porch.

‘Now, slowly, take it from the beginning,’ said Ginger.

Milo nodded excitedly. ‘Well, remember we were talking about doing something real bad?’

‘You were,’ Ginger corrected him.

Milo ignored this. ‘Well, if something bad happened to one of us, our parents would come back, wouldn’t they?’

Ginger leaned forward and ripped a weed from the nearest garden bed. ‘How bad? I mean, if I was run over and killed, I’m pretty sure Dad would turn up at the funeral.’ She threw the weed on a pile of compost. ‘Wouldn’t do me much good.’

‘But what if he just thought you were hit by a car?’ said Milo, watching her face avidly.

‘I have a phobia about cars crashing into me.’

‘Okay, what if – what if – what if you went missing? Yes, that’s it! Heaps of kids go missing, and the police send out dogs and helicopters and drag the local rivers, and it’s in all the newspapers and on TV, and everybody hears about it.’

‘And your point . . .’ Ginger said slowly.

‘You go missing and then we –’

‘Why don’t you go missing?’

Milo shook his head. ‘Won’t work, I’d need somewhere to hide – and I’m not sure my mum would come home . . .’

‘So where would I hide?’ Ginger wanted to know. ‘Not in your chook shed.’

Milo tut-tutted. ‘The fox would get you there. No, in the cellar.’

Ginger eyed him dubiously.

‘There’s a light,’ Milo said hastily. ‘And you could come out during the day for a breather. You could wear my clothes, so even if anyone does see you, they’ll think it’s me.’

Ginger ripped out another weed, a little more savagely this time. ‘And just how long would I have to live in the cellar? And what about your father?’

Milo shrugged. ‘Dad never goes down there. There’s no wine left. And it wouldn’t be for long. Missing children are usually on the news the same day they go missing, or the next.’

‘Maybe. What about food?’ Ginger asked. Milo noticed that she seemed to be getting interested. ‘We’d need money . . .’

‘You just gave me an idea. If you fix up the garden –’ Ginger scowled. ‘What am I, your slave?’

Milo quickly altered tack. ‘I’ll help, but you’ll need to tell me what to pull out and what to leave in. Anyway, I can say a gardener offered to give us a free trial. If we liked what he did, he’d come by once a week for twenty dollars and keep the place tidy. Then we’d keep the money. That way, I could buy you whatever you like to eat.’

‘Twenty dollars wouldn’t pay for my weekly lunch at school,’ Ginger said.

‘It’s enough,’ said Milo, not to be side-tracked. ‘Besides, I can use some of our food. And Fluke would help.’

‘Fluke?’

‘Yeah, he’s real smart.’

‘He hides it well,’ she muttered. ‘What happens when we get caught? Your mum and my dad will just run off back to wherever they’ve been hiding.’

‘Fluke says, “nothing ventured, nothing sprained”.’

‘Gained,’ Ginger corrected him. ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained. But that doesn’t explain what will happen when we’re found out.’

Milo said slowly, ‘I think that once your dad realises how badly you’ve been missing him, he won’t want to ever leave again. And if that happens, then he’ll have to leave my mum and she’ll have to come back home.’

‘Hmm,’ Ginger mumbled. ‘Well, I guess if Anne Frank could hide in an attic from the Nazis, I can hide in a cellar for a few days. I can always bring some stuff over. All right, let’s do it.’

Milo saw her to the gate. Ginger turned to go, then hesitated and turned back.

‘Look, I’m sorry about the other day,’ she said in a rush.

Milo frowned.

‘You know, when I slammed the door in your face.’ Ginger was staring off down the street. ‘It was pretty – mean. Mum and Dad had been arguing for, I don’t know, ever . . . he wasn’t coming home nights.’ She wiped a sleeve across her eyes. ‘I knew my mum was lying when she said Dad was doing lots of overtime. I just wanted to believe her. And when my dad was away the arguing stopped, so I was sort of glad. But then all of a sudden he didn’t come home, at all. Mum kept telling me he was working crazy shifts and he was home while I was at school. But when I came home early from school she . . . she lied, said he’d just left minutes before.’ She stopped suddenly.

Milo didn’t know what to say. Ginger had said more words in the space of twenty seconds than anyone had said to him all year.

‘Well,’ he said, for once choosing his words carefully, ‘maybe having some warning helped a bit? I didn’t know anything was wrong, and one morning Mum was just gone.’

Ginger shrugged. ‘At least you didn’t have to hear them arguing all the time. Knowing your whole life was about to fall apart.’

‘But maybe I could have done something.’

‘Take it from me,’ said Ginger, ‘there’s nothing you could have done. Your mum and dad would’ve both snapped at you and told you to mind your own business.’

‘Oh,’ said Milo.

Ginger smiled, a little hesitantly. ‘It’s been nice talking to you . . . Milo. That is . . .’ Ginger bit her lip. ‘Toby.’

Milo blinked. No one except his dad ever called him Toby. How did she know his real name?

She headed off, walking backwards and giving him a little wave. ‘I’ll be here tomorrow, straight after school.’

Before Milo could say anything, Ginger turned and hurried off, her arms folded across her chest as if she was hugging herself.